


Slow Burn

by ranereins (shadowintime)



Category: Falling Skies
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Slash, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 07:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowintime/pseuds/ranereins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pope couldn't just let the Professor die alone in the woods, he didn't hate the man that much. In fact, in a perfect world, Pope might not hate him at all... quite the opposite actually. But this isn't a perfect world, it's a hellhole, and he's stuck with a realization he can't forget but has to live with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Warming Up

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as just a missing scene fic for ep 3x05, but morphed into something much more after seeing 3x06. I have a vague idea of where it is headed, at least in respect to a major future aspect of the fic, so it's a work in progress.
> 
> Note: The rating of the fic may change, as well as the tags, and I guarantee the major character death warning will eventually be added.
> 
> Thanks to the incredible [sgflutegirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sgflutegirl/pseuds/sgflutegirl), who beta'd this for me despite never having read any Tom/Pope (because she is totally awesome like that). :D

Mason had told him to leave, so he’d left. Pope didn’t need the Professor dragging him down anyways; he could cover a lot more ground on his own. Hell, he’d probably already covered over two miles of dense, rough terrain… more than he’d covered with the Professor on their stroll through the woods before Mason had hurt his ankle.

And if the Professor died out in the woods, well hell, that was no skin off his back. It’d probably make his life easier, if anything. It’d at least mean the end to the Mason reign. No more having to take orders from the Professor, no more pussyfooting around his boys (not that he necessarily did anyways)… the littlest one was cool though, so he wouldn’t give ‘em hell. Actually, the kid kind of reminded him of his own boy a little. Maybe he’d take the little man under his wing, make sure he came up right.

Pope stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes. What the hell was he thinking? He might hate Mason (and maybe hate was a strong word… really disliked might be better), but could he really let the man die just like that? Leave four kids without a father (no matter how annoying the two older princes were); especially when they’d already lost their mother in the invasion?

And if the Professor died, who would succeed him as President back in Charleston? Some asshole like Manchester who needed to control everything and never do anything because it was a little risky? Or maybe some military man like Bressler who was always ready to go in guns-a-blazin’, regardless of the tactical situation? Pope sighed heavily. Maybe the devil you knew was better than the one that could take his place. At least Mason was half decent at running the resistance. People still died, but not as many and never needlessly, at least not because of the Professor.

So Pope was going to rescue his annoying ass. How? They were roughly in the middle of nowhere, using the damn moss on the side of trees and rocks as a compass, and had only a general direction to walk in. Hell, they could be in the middle of a state park or some sort of wildlife refuge for all they knew… the woods could span hundreds of acres.

Pope suffered a moment of wanting to just sit down and give up, or maybe screaming at the top of his lungs, before mentally kicking himself for being such a puss. “C’mon Pope, no sense wastin’ time. Never gonna get anywhere if ya don’t start walkin’,” he muttered to himself.

He felt like he’d been walking for hours, though he had no way of knowing if that was accurate or not, when he stumbled upon a small farm. Pope silently thanked anyone listening for giving him this break as his leg muscles were burning from overexertion and he figured he wouldn’t have been able to go much further. He stopped, rested his hands on his knees and breathed deeply, and surveyed the farm. He didn’t see any vehicles parked in the yard, but there was a barn a short way from the house… if he was real lucky, maybe there was a car parked inside.

As he straightened up and prepared himself to start moving again – despite his protesting leg muscles and lungs – a chill ran down his spine and the cold of the night began to register. Pope found himself wishing for one of the Professor’s nice warm fires and then promptly mentally scolded himself for it. It did make him realize though that if he was cold even after running all that way, the Professor was probably halfway to hypothermic by now. Well, provided the cooties hadn’t gotten him yet. Boy was he gonna be pissed if they had and he’d been working on the Professor’s rescue for nothing.

With one last deep breath, he jogged down to the barn, lifted the latch on the doors and pushed them open. Oh, it _had_ to be his lucky day. Sitting inside, as though it had been waiting for him all along, was an old truck. It had definitely seen better days, but hopefully it had just enough life left in it to get them the hell out of dodge. Pope opened the driver’s side door and checked for keys, but found none. He could probably hotwire it, but keys were easier and he needed to go in the house for some supplies anyways.

Even with an alien invasion, the house’s owner had still apparently figured it was a good idea to lock up before they left. Pope couldn’t really see any logic in that as he was able to break a window on the door and unlock it in under twenty seconds, but maybe they had planned to eventually come back. They were probably dead now. Regardless, their contributions to his rescue would be gratefully appreciated… or would be, if Pope didn’t have a ‘finders, keepers’ outlook on things.

The house was surprisingly well stocked in the things that he was looking for. He found a couple blankets, a basic first aid kit, a jug of drinking water, about a dozen cans of tuna (it was better than frog or snake), several boxes of shotgun shells, and even a few bottles of half decent whiskey. Pope couldn’t imagine anyone just leaving all of this stuff; the inhabitants must have been taken to one of the camps they’d heard about fairly early on in the invasion. With that in mind, he took a moment for a quick drink before piling his findings into one of the blankets and throwing it over his shoulder to carry it all out to the truck. He grabbed the keys to the truck off of their hook on the way out the door.

Once everything was stashed in the truck and he’d made sure that the truck would start, had enough gas to probably get them most of the way home, and had moved it out of the barn just in case they needed to make a quick getaway, he grabbed the shotgun and took off into the woods back the way he’d come.

When he reached the Professor, he found the cooties closing in on him. Plane crash aside, this absolutely _had_ to be the luckiest day he’d ever had and it was all being wasted on Mason. Wasn’t that a bitch. Two well placed shots to the cooties heads and he was hauling the Professor to his feet, hoping his luck would hold out and those were the only two in the area.

When they reached the truck, Pope helped the Professor inside before getting inside himself. He handed Mason a can of tuna and a bottle of whiskey before starting the engine and heading down the bumpy road.

After taking a long drink of the whiskey for his pain, Tom pulled out his knife and opened the can of tuna. He drained the water off out the window – Pope griping at him about the cold air flowing in as he did so – before taking a pinch of the fish and popping it into his mouth. He’d had enough tuna and beans to last him a lifetime back when they were just the 2nd Mass, on the road and living on whatever they could find… but in that moment, after frog and snake, tuna had never tasted better. He held out the can to Pope in a silent offering.

Pope stared at him for a moment before taking his right hand off the wheel to grab a lump of the tuna. “Damn that’s good,” he said, rolling the fish over his tongue, savoring it. “Tell you one thing though… after all this is over and those damn aliens go back to whatever hellhole they came from… things get back to normal and we don’t have to scavenge for everything – just go in a store and buy whatever we want – I may never touch a can of tuna again!”

“Or beans,” Tom added with a small smile.

Pope pulled a disgusted face. “Oh God! Far as I’m concerned, the bubbleheads can take all the beans on the planet with ‘em when they go! Call it a farewell gift… a token of our appreciation. If they go, that is.” He glanced over at the Professor and noted the mild annoyance creeping into his expression. “What? They’ll never know.”

Tom didn’t reply, he simply took another drink of the whiskey and handed it to Pope. He watched as Pope took a large drink and showed no signs of slowing down. “Easy there, you’ve gotta get us home in one piece.”

Pope grinned, all teeth and danger, as they pulled onto the highway leading in the general direction of Charleston. “Professor, I could drink you under the table and still drive your lightweight ass home almost as good as if I was sober.”

Tom finished what he figured to be his fair share of the tuna and offered the can to Pope while reaching for the whiskey. He’d known Pope long enough to know that arguing would get him nowhere, but a trade might work.

Pope relinquished the bottle, but shook his head in refusal of the tuna. “Nah, you eat up Professor, you probably need it more than I do. Besides, there’s more in the backseat.”

Tom wedged the bottle between his legs and finished off the tuna. A comfortable silence settled inside the truck and he felt at ease enough to settle down into the seat for a nap. He replaced the cork in the whiskey and leaned his head against the window.

“Here,” Pope said after a moment, grabbing the blankets from the back seat and tossing them on top of the Professor.

Tom jumped a little before reopening his eyes and realizing that it was just blankets.

Pope arched a brow. “Geez Professor, take it easy. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

Tom smiled and snuggled down under the blankets. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

Pope gave him a slightly annoyed look, but as soon as the Professor’s eyes were closed, he smiled.

 

Tom woke to the feeling of falling and in fact he was. Pope had opened the door that he was leaning heavily against and he was falling out. He jerked awake, trying to stop from falling, but Pope already had a hand on his chest to keep him from going any further. “What’s going on?”

“Nothin’ to be alarmed about,” Pope assured him as he righted the Professor in his seat. “We just ran out of gas.”

“Oh,” Tom replied, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Where are we? Do you know?”

“Yeah, I recognize the road. We’re maybe ten miles out. Think you can walk it?”

“Guess I’ll have to.”

Pope retrieved Mason’s walking stick from the bed of the truck and handed it to him before helping him out. He glanced at the supplies in the backseat but quickly decided to leave them; it was going to be hard enough just getting the Professor back home. He’d just have to come back for them later.

They hadn’t even walked a block when Tom groaned in pain. “Ugh, why couldn’t the gas have just held out a little longer?”

“We’d of had a Harley, I guarantee we would have made it there and still had gas to spare.”

“I don’t doubt that. But there never seems to be a Harley around when you need one.” Tom smiled at his attempt at a small joke.

Pope didn’t seem to notice the Professor’s smile or attempted joke. “Ain’t that the truth.”

After about four miles, Tom stopped. The pain had reached a new level of unbearable and he felt as though he might crumple to the ground at any moment. “I… I need a minute.” He leaned heavily against his walking stick with both hands and took the pressure off of his injured ankle.

“Alright.” Pope looked around for any signs of trouble and found none, but it didn’t quell the overwhelming feeling of unease at being so out in the open. Honestly, he was just as tired as Mason was, maybe even more so considering all the energy he exerted on the Professor’s rescue, so he was glad for the break. “Ya know, you should let me take you out on my Harley sometime.”

Tom stared at him, somewhat shocked. He wasn’t entirely sure what the offer implied, but in the very least it was perhaps a sign that maybe this whole ordeal had eased some of the tension and mistrust between them.

Pope noticed the shocked look and quickly added, “Ya know, so that you can begin to understand the merits of using a fleet of them for runs. And… unlike horses, they don’t spook. Or make your balls ache for days after.”

Tom chuckled and held out his arm to Pope, ready for the last leg of their journey… or at least ready as he’d ever be. “Horses don’t run out of gas though.”

Pope wrapped his arm around him and they slowly began to walk again. “No, they produce it! What the hell are the stable guys feeding them anyways?”

“Leftovers mostly. Whatever gets thrown in the trash. So, probably mostly beans.”

“Well that explains it. If that guy down in the bowels of the city that gives us electricity could figure out how to make all that methane usable, we’d never have to worry about running out of gas.”

“I’ll mention that to him.” They fell back into silence for another quarter of a mile before Tom smiled and said, “There for a minute, I thought maybe you were warming up to me.”

Pope didn’t look at him. He simply replied with, “It’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than a plane crash and camping trip to accomplish that Professor.”

 

Pope had never been happier to see men in camouflage in his life. The fact that they were pointing guns at them and telling them to stop was annoying though. Especially considering that he figured if they stopped, they would probably both fall to the ground… forward momentum was the only thing keeping them upright.

Tom called out to them, letting them know who they were, and made a mental note to praise them later for taking their duties so seriously, especially considering that they had recently learned that not every human came in peace. Though, he knew that both he and Pope could have done without it. Finding the strength to speak above a murmur at that point was surprisingly difficult.

When they finally did stop, Pope’s speculation rang true and they collapsed from exhaustion. Tom passed out. Pope laid on the hard ground, eyes closed, knowing that he could rest now that they had others looking out for them. He didn’t even put up a fight when soldiers showed up with gurneys; he simply allowed himself to be lifted on and loaded into a truck.

When they arrived in the infirmary, Pope waved Lourdes off when she descended on him with her pen light, intent on sending stabbing sensations through his eyes apparently. “I’m fine, worry about the Professor.” He was both grateful and slightly affronted when she did as he’d told her and turned to fuss over Mason. A nurse came to take her place within seconds though and he was checked over whether he wanted to be or not.

After resting for a bit, Pope sat up and looked around the infirmary for any signs of Mason. They had wheeled him away after Lourdes had made a quick inspection and he hadn’t seen him since. He guessed their time together in the wilderness had endeared Mason to him some because he found himself worried about the Professor. It seemed odd that Lourdes wasn’t buzzing around checking on patients and Mason hadn’t been brought back to rest beside him.

A nurse passed by and Pope called to her. She stopped and took a few steps towards him. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I was just wondering where the Professor was.”

She stared at him questioningly. “Who?”

He forgot that not everyone knew that Tom Mason used to be a professor and that it was his nickname in the 2nd Mass. “Uh, right… the President. I was brought in with him.”

“Oh. He’s down the hall in a more private area.”

Of course they would take him to a private area… wouldn’t want any of the lowly townspeople bothering him. “K… thanks.” He grabbed his coat from a nearby chair and made his way down the hall until he found the right place.

Lourdes looked up at him for a moment and smiled before continuing whatever paperwork she seemed to be doing.

Pope draped his coat over the back of the chair sitting in the corner of what passed for the Professor’s hospital room before plopping down in it. This felt oddly, not to mention sickly, familiar. Last time he’d been here, in this very room, Crazy Lee had died a slow, soul crushing death. Surprisingly, he found himself hoping this wouldn’t be a repeat performance.

“You should go home and get some rest,” Lourdes suggested.

Pope allowed his head to lull back, though his eyes never left Mason. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, but I am physically too tired to move at the moment.”

Lourdes studied him for a moment before following his line of sight to Tom. The corners of her lips twitched upwards as a light bulb switched on in her head. “Right. Well, I’ll have one of the nurses bring you a tray of food and a blanket.”

“That would be much appreciated,” Pope said slowly, his voice giving away just how tired he truly was.

Lourdes slipped Tom’s chart into the tray at the end of his bed before heading off to check on her other patients. Pope stopped her, grabbing her wrist gently. She looked down at him questioningly.

“He gonna be alright?”

Lourdes nodded. “Yeah, other than walking with a limp and a cane for a while, he’ll be fine.”

Pope released her wrist and rested his head against the small section of wall, still staring at Mason. “Our President, all pimp with his cane.”

Lourdes chuckled. “Get some rest.”

 

Pope didn’t remember even coming close to falling asleep, but he’d been staring at Mason before he fell asleep and when he found himself waking, the first thing he laid eyes on was Mason. A blanket had been draped over him at some point and there was a tray of food waiting for him on a table that hadn’t been there before. He stared at Mason for a few moments until he was sure he was still breathing. As annoying as they could be, he wished there was a monitor hooked up to the man, giving reassuring beeps in time with his heart beat. And damn, when had he started caring so much about whether Professor Tom Mason lived or died? It was a little alarming honestly.

He sat up straight, wincing at the crick in his neck and knotted muscle in his back. He rolled his neck before pulling the tray over and inspecting the sandwich. Tuna salad… of course it would be tuna salad. And just like that, his lucky streak seemed to be over. Begrudgingly, he ate the sandwich anyways. It wasn’t as good as the tuna in the truck.

Once he’d finished all of the food and drank his goat milk, he decided that he should probably get back to the bar, make sure that someone hadn’t taken it all over in his absence. He didn’t leave though. He sat in that chair and stared at Mason while he tried to figure out when he started caring and tried to convince himself that he was over it. It didn’t work so well though. The more he thought about it, analyzed it, the more he realized that maybe he’d cared about Tom to some degree all along, from the very moment he’d taken him captive back in that theater and they’d had a beer together.

_‘Tom? Really? I’m thinking of him as Tom now? Not Mason or Professor?’_ he scolded himself. Damn, he was in trouble.

Pope turned his thoughts to how he could fix this, all of it, and just go back to hating the man. It never went anywhere… well, at least nowhere he was good with. Thoughts of trying to hate the Professor turned to thoughts of having angry sex with the Professor. Shit, it was all spiraling fast now. And it wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about it before, because he had – just fleeting thoughts of shutting the man up with a kiss or showing Mason his favorite way of settling an argument – but they were always just that, brief thoughts in the heat of a typically angry moment. Now they were more than that, they were ideas that he could make plans for should he choose to do so, dirty thoughts that threatened to consume him. The man was unconscious in a hospital bed for crying out loud, and he was thinking of how hot it would be to straddle him in that bed, maybe give him a wakeup call he wouldn’t soon forget… no, he was not going there. Nope. Not. A. Chance. Except maybe…

Pope was torn from his thoughts when Weaver came in to check on Tom. He jumped a little, startled by the man’s sudden presence and guilty due to where his thoughts had been headed where they not interrupted. He cleared his throat and shifted in the chair before leaning over to rest his elbows on his knees. “Colonel.”

“Pope, good to have you and Tom back,” Weaver replied, giving him a brief nod of recognition.

Pope realized that Weaver had been calling the Professor Tom for a long time now. He’d heard the stories about how Weaver once disliked Mason and despised him after he’d been made Weaver’s second in command. Hell, Pope could even remember a time when Weaver had bitterly called Mason ‘Professor’. But then something changed and he’d started calling him Tom. He wanted to know what had changed.

Pope had heard them express how much they needed each other, how one wished they were going with the other, how neither could keep this resistance going without the other and a wave of what he could only be classified as jealousy passed through him. _‘So, so much trouble.’ _He didn’t know precisely what the two’s relationship was, whether there was anything outside of camaraderie, but he certainly aimed to find out now.__

__“Good to be back, _sir_ ,” Pope finally replied, adding some bite to the last word._ _

__Weaver didn’t seem to notice this. “What the hell happened out there son?”_ _

__Pope sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair as he proceeded to tell Weaver all about the former US President being alive, except he wasn’t anymore and the bubblehead probably wasn’t either and General Bressler was dead for sure. Then there was their trek through the woods; that part of the story he made as short and sweet as possible._ _

__Weaver pinched the bridge of his nose. “And the hits just keep on comin’.”_ _

__There was something Pope was missing here. “Something happen while we were gone?”_ _

__Weaver nodded. “Anne and the baby have gone missing. Seems she left in the middle of the night with little Alexis.”_ _

__Anne… shit… he’d completely forgotten about her. He really was in deep if he was completely omitting the girlfriend from memory. “Why… why would she do that? That’s insane.”_ _

__Weaver remained silent for a moment, trying to decide how much to tell Pope. Pope had never been accepting of anything even remotely alien, he only just barely tolerated Ben and the other harnessed kids, so Weaver couldn’t imagine him taking kindly to a human/alien hybrid. Still though, people were going to find out and he figured it might be best to be the one to tell Pope so that he could gauge his reaction. “She found out that the baby is some sort of human and alien hybrid. She was afraid of what people might do to little Alexis when they found out. Can’t say that I blame her.”_ _

__Pope’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead. “A hybrid?”_ _

__Weaver simply nodded, eyeing him critically._ _

__“Great, so it’s not enough that they’re trying to kill us all and they harness kids so they can use them as slaves, but now they’ve figured out a way to get a hold of the newborn babes too?!” Pope growled, standing up from his chair for the first time. “This some sort of last-ditch tactic to make sure we can’t completely wipe them out? Or a way to wipe us out in the long-haul? Or maybe… maybe just another way to screw with us, make our lives even more hell than they currently are!”_ _

__Weaver held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Just calm down Pope…”_ _

__“Calm down?” Pope asked incredulously. “You don’t think this isn’t anything to be pissed about?!?”_ _

__“Of course I do! But we don’t know anything for sure yet. All the other babies that have been born since the invasion have been tested and Alexis is the only one so far to come back as one of these hybrids.” Weaver sighed. “Now maybe Alexis was just the first or, could be that she’s the only one. Karen had us all knocked out and trussed up back at that weapon thing, could be she did something to Alexis we didn’t know about.”_ _

__Pope sat back down and ran his hands over his face. “Okay, so Anne and Alexis are just gone… of their own free will?” He hated the fact that he hoped the answer was ‘yes’ and a little voice somewhere in the back of his head was saying _‘he’ll get over them eventually, right?’_ It was times like this when he could understand why everyone thought he was a horrible person; it was because he could be and usually at the worst of times._ _

__“Seems like that’s how it started out, but there’s evidence that they may be in enemy hands.”_ _

___‘So they could be dead… well, at least Anne.’_ Damn, he really was a self-serving asshole._ _

__“We’re waiting on news from the rebel skitters; they may be able to find out where they are.”_ _

__Pope nodded. He wasn’t sure what more to say, so he simply stared at the Professor and imagined what his reaction might be to the news._ _

__Weaver stood there in silence for a few long moments, staring at Tom as well, before finally telling Pope that he had some things to attend to._ _

__Pope went to the bathroom and splashed some water on his face. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and realized moments too late that mirrors were not his friend right now. He’d sat there waiting for Tom to wake up, all the while working through the confusing feelings towards the man he’d had over the past few days and came to the realization that maybe he didn’t hate the man at all, maybe it was quite the opposite. And then reality came crashing down and he remembered that Tom had a girlfriend, the mother of his newborn daughter, and a part of him (a horrible, horrible part) only saw Anne as an obstacle... one that might not even be in the picture anymore thanks to an unforeseen circumstance._ _

__He looked away from his reflection guiltily. He knew he was capable of being _that_ guy, the one who destroyed homes and families for his own gain, but Anne was a good woman who’d taken care of him on multiple occasions despite him being a total ass to her and her boyfriend and all but one of his kids at every turn. And now that he realized that maybe he didn’t hate the Professor after all, could he really do that to a man he… He couldn’t even bring himself to think of a fitting word._ _

__No, he couldn’t do it. Not in the world they lived in where nothing could be taken for granted, nothing was simple, and nothing was ever easy. Pre-invasion where life was practically a game and you wouldn’t get ahead without playing a little dirty, absolutely, without so much as a second thought. But not this one. Hell, Mason probably wouldn’t have even given him a second glance pre-invasion, no matter the circumstances. He looked at himself in the mirror, guilt gone, replaced with sadness; he knew what he had to do._ _

__

__When the Professor finally woke up, Pope was honest with him right up to the point that Mason said that he must be disappointed that he was still alive. He had spent the two days Tom had been unconscious sitting right there in that chair; the better part of one figuring out that he didn’t hate Tom so much after all and getting his own hopes up and the other pretending that he wasn’t about to have to do one of the hardest things he’d ever encountered… that maybe he would still give Mason the most interesting wakeup call he could ever hope for and Anne didn’t even care for Tom like that and therefore wasn’t an issue._ _

__He wanted to tell Mason that he couldn’t be farther from the truth when he’d said that Pope must be disappointed that he was still alive. Instead, he told him that they were even, pretended he still hated him while his heart ached unbidden. Weaver came in about that time and Pope couldn’t decide whether the man had the best or worst timing. He watched as Weaver gave the Professor the news about Anne and Alexis and Mason’s expression fell into one of muted despair. The ache in his chest was spreading and the air seemed to be getting thinner, though no one else seemed to notice. He saw a chance to leave when Lourdes came in and he took it, making excuses about having a business to run and threw one last thinly veiled threat Mason’s way for good measure before leaving._ _

__When he arrived at The Nest, he was greeted with smiles and some cheers from friends, employees and people he cared little about. He gave them a fake smile and a line about how not even Mason could bring him down before grabbing a bottle of the good stuff and retreating to his bedroom. He uncorked the bottle and as he took his first drink in two days, he mused that maybe Mason was the only one that could bring him down right now._ _


	2. Already Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it took me 7 months to update this! Never intended for it to be anywhere near that long! 
> 
> Thanks to my awesome friend and beta, [sgflutegirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sgflutegirl/pseuds/sgflutegirl)! Don't know what I'd do without you!

When Pope woke the next morning, it was too loud knocking at his door and Tector asking, “You alive in there?”

Each rap on the door seemed to connect directly with the pain-center of his brain. He winced, clutched his head – which was now throbbing like he had his very own built-in kick drum – and tried to remember how he’d gotten this wasted. He only remembered grabbing that one bottle, but if his hangover was any indication, there’d been at least a few more at some point after that.

“Yo Pope…”Tector began again.

“Yeah,” Pope replied, wincing again, this time at the sound of his own voice.

Tector tentatively opened the door just enough to poke his head in and raised his eyebrows at the sight that was a very hungover Pope. “I’m gonna rephrase my question… you _gonna_ live?”

Pope slowly sat up. “I ran out of luck a day ago, so probably.”

Tector gave him a confused look, but didn’t ask. “We’re supposed to be on the line in an hour, you gonna be up for that?”

“Most definitely not.”

Tector frowned. “What should I tell the Colonel?”

‘ _That I may have tried to drink myself to death and failed_ ,’ he thought sarcastically, but decided that might lead to questions that he didn’t feel like trying to come up with valid, yet fake answers for.

“Pope?” Tector asked as the silence stretched on and Pope showed no signs of answering. He wasn’t entirely sure that Pope hadn’t just fallen back asleep.

“Tell him I’m taking another day.”

“He probably ain’t gonna like that.”

“He doesn’t have to,” Pope replied bitterly. “If he wants to bitch about it, tell him to go talk to his best friend, our illustrious President, of whom I _saved_ three days ago.”

“Alright.” While Tector would never tell the Colonel that, knew he wasn’t going to get anything better out of Pope so he left, closing the door behind himself. He was more than a little curious as to what had turned Pope’s mood so sour (not that he was all smiles and rainbows normally anyways), but he was more likely to get blood out of a stone before information out of Pope. He hoped that whatever had the man in such a bad mood wouldn’t last long though.

Pope rolled back over when Tector left, hoping that he would be able to fall back asleep and forget his problems for a little while longer. He had no such luck and decided to get up after all when his thoughts began straying towards Mason. That was far too dangerous territory.

Pope found that Lyle had put on a pot of coffee and though the man couldn’t make a decent pot of coffee to save his life, this was one time that he was happy Lyle had made the attempt. He poured himself a cup, tasted it, made a disgusted face and then poured a decent amount of whiskey into it. The whiskey didn’t improve the flavor any and wouldn’t help him get over his hangover (at least not in the way he had intended) but it gave him a reason to choke the rest of the cup down.

The Nest was mostly empty save for a few people, mostly friends or employees but there were a couple people that had passed out at some point and no one had bothered to drag them home. Pope leaned against the bar, staring at them, trying to decide whether to give them a wakeup call and his usual ‘you don’t have to go home, but ya can’t stay here’ when Tector came running in with wide eyes and an extra gun in his left hand.

“Pope! You better come quick! We got a situation!” Tector shouted as he made his way across the room to the bar. His yelling roused the stragglers from their drunken stupor with a start and had them reaching for their weapons until they realized that there was no immediate reason for alarm.

Pope sighed and turned his back to Tector, opting for another cup of Lyle’s terrible coffee. “Not my problem today. I told you to tell Weaver to take it up with Mason.”

“That’s the thing though,” Tector laid the extra gun on top of the bar. “The President’s been taken hostage!”

Pope arched a brow and spun around. “Hostage? How the hell’d that happen? Who’s got him? Is it the mole?” His heart was already in his throat at the prospect of Tom’s life being in serious danger and he hated that this was already his natural reaction towards bad news involving Tom.

Tector’s face twitched. “No… it’s Hal.”

“Hal?” Pope’s face screwed up with confusion. “Wait… what’s Hal?”

“Hal’s the one that took the President hostage.”

Pope narrowed his eyes in further confusion as his brain tried to process this information. “Why the hell would he do that? Whoa… wait… is he the mole?”

Tector shrugged. “I dunno. All I know is we gotta get our asses out there like five minutes ago.” He turned and ran back out the way he’d come.

Pope stared down at the AKS-74U lying on the bar. This was a gun they didn’t use very much, typically only on missions that required them to be as quite as possible; it was designed to kill a little more quietly than other rifles. Was the situation really so bad that it called for a gun that could kill the President’s son without alerting the whole city? It was no secret that Pope didn’t like Hal, or that he thought the kid was an annoying, arrogant, self-righteous prick, but he’d never thought about killing the kid before. Well, not seriously. Thinking about sticking his foot out to trip Hal and the kid somehow stumbling to his death was one thing, actually pulling the trigger and putting a bullet in him… he just wasn’t sure he could ever do that. Tom would never forgive him for it, that was for sure. Damn was it a bitch actually caring what the Professor would think about his actions… about him in general.

Pope picked up the gun, flipped the safety into position and ran to join Tector and the others. The amount of guns aimed up at where Hal apparently had the Professor holed up was alarming and it made his stomach burn with worry. Even the sharpest of eyes couldn’t see good enough to tell where Mason was and if anyone fired, there was the potential that it could hit him.

He took up position behind the back wheel of an overturned Humvee and looked at Weaver for answers. “What’s goin’ on here?”

“Not sure,” Weaver replied succinctly.

“Care to elaborate a little more?” Pope said with an edge in his voice.

Weaver gave him a displeased look. “We don’t know what the situation is. All we know is that Hal attacked Miss Peralta and then put a gun to his father’s head. We don’t know why.”

Pope’s eyes darted to Maggie; if anyone had any insight as to Hal’s state of mind, it was her. She had her eyes on the ground like it was her lifeline and looked like she’d just swallowed an eye bug. He was about to ask if she knew anything about Hal’s dive off of the sanity cliff when Anthony came running up to inform Weaver that they had the back exits covered as well. ‘ _Nothing like backing a desperate, unstable man into a corner to make a bad situation worse_.’

Miss Peralta came running up behind the Humvee next to ask Weaver the very question that Pope had started to ask Maggie, the one that everyone probably wanted an answer to, but she was obviously asking the wrong person. “Do you have any idea what triggered this?”

Weaver shook his head. “I wish I knew.”

Peralta started mumbling something about post-traumatic stress and Pope had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. Anyone who knew the kid, had fought with him, knew that the kid was strong and wouldn’t let the war get to him like this. Sure, a lot of stuff got to him, like when people died and most especially when they were people he loved or cared about or was in charge of, but if he ever did break because of the stress of it all, he’d be a puddle of tears and snot, not holding his own father hostage. Pope couldn’t think of anything would make the kid feel so desperate that he’d put a gun to his father’s head.

“It’s worse than that,” Maggie finally said, still not looking anyone in the eyes. “Hal’s been having emotional problems for weeks.”

“What kind of emotional problems?” Weaver asked, surprised.

Pope frowned as Maggie spilled the truth about Hal’s dreams about Karen and his fear that Karen had implanted him with something. That was more than a little disturbing… somehow it was more the supposed dreams about Hal visiting his psycho, alien-leader ex than a potential implant that bothered Pope. If the dreams weren’t just dreams, everything about the resistance could be compromised. Mason’s two eldest had the second most knowledge about the whole operation, and if one of them was reporting directly to the bitch with the strap-on from hell on her back, they needed to end this situation quickly and be hauling ass outta there before dark. 

Peralta was quick to pin Hal as the mole, and at this point, Pope couldn’t blame her. What little care he had for Hal’s wellbeing (for the sake of Tom) was quickly going out the proverbial window and all he really cared about now was getting the Professor away from his potentially traitorous son. The more Pope thought about it, the angrier he got.

“You knew!” Pope spat at Maggie. “You knew and you’ve been covering up for him.” She didn’t deny it, couldn’t deny it. “Un-freakin’-believable! So I guess it’s your fault our _illustrious_ President has a gun to his head?”

The damn bitch was going to get not only them killed, but somehow more importantly to Pope, get Tom Mason killed. And for what, a prick with perfect teeth and hair, that for some reason turned her into a cat in heat and caused her to lose all common sense? Sure, that prick was Tom’s son, but right now, no one mattered more to Pope than Tom. He looked away from Maggie, unable to look at her without the urge to slap the stupid out of her. 

“Pointing fingers won’t change anything,” Weaver said calmly.

Pointing fingers might not help anything, but fingers sure as hell deserved to be pointed. Maggie had kept quiet, even when Hal had wanted to tell someone, and now they were in this monumental mess. Hal was obviously out of his gourd and threatening to kill Tom, but no one was sure whether it was because of an alien influence or not. Pope might not ever be able to let the feelings he had for the Professor come out, but damn if he wasn’t still going to protect the man he loved! He took a moment to mentally scold himself for not only thinking the ‘L’ word in relation to the Professor, but also for being such a sap (which out of the blue was accompanied by an unbidden verse of Stand By Your Man).

Weaver continued, “Right now we gotta figure out a way to get Hal and Tom out of that building unharmed.”

“Unharmed?!” Pope exclaimed. “Hal Mason _murdered _Arthur Manchester!” Yep, it was official, any care he had for Hal was long gone and he was ready to hurt the son-of-a-bitch.__

__Once again Maggie jumped to Hal’s defense by pointing out that there was no proof that Hal had murdered Manchester. This caused Pope’s anger to reach a boiling point._ _

__“Stop it!” Pope hissed at Maggie. He felt like he was shaking inside with the effort of not leaping over the three people separating them and slapping the stupid out of her like he’d been wanting to. How could she possibly still be defending him when he’d attacked a woman, held a gun to his father’s head, and was now holding Tom hostage?! “Stop defending him! You knew he leaked information to his Espheni girlfriend! He got dozens of us killed!”_ _

__The vein in Pope’s head threatened to explode when Weaver jumped in to Hal’s defense as well. “That boy has saved the lives of everyone out here at one time or another! He was a loyal soldier until Karen got her claws into him.”_ _

__Some rational part of Pope’s brain reminded him that that was true and that he should try to remember his attitude towards using violence against Hal when all of this started, but the more dominant, pissed off part of his brain that only cared about the Professor’s wellbeing wasn’t hearing it. “You should know better,” he spat at Weaver. There was no filter between his anger and his mouth at this point and he wasn’t completely sure why he was saying these things. “Instead, ya bend over backwards to make excuses for him? Why? Because a Mason couldn’t possibly be a traitor!”_ _

__Ben was next to jump to Hal’s defense. “Hal’s not any more responsible for his actions than a harnessed kid!”_ _

__“Yeah, so says spike boy. Huh? Refuses to get his own studs removed!” Pope’s fury prompted a momentary urge to spin Ben around, pin him to the upside-down Humvee, and do his damnedest to yank those spikes right out of his back. He was seeing red and there was no longer any rationality to his words or actions. “Ya get a little taste of that alien DNA… Mason family traitors…”_ _

__Ben’s punch caught him off guard and he was surprised by how strong the kid was when he found himself pinned to the ground. Apparently it was just what he needed to bring him back down to Earth though, because when Weaver pulled Ben off of him, realization of exactly what he’d said and done began to sink in. He’d gone too far, gotten too personal, maybe even a little racist if you considered the formerly harnessed kids a race. The anger drained out of him like someone had pulled a plug, and was replaced with a shame that made his stomach sink. He didn’t hate harnessed or formerly harnessed kids or even Ben… not for a long time now, not since he’d realized that they weren’t the enemy, they were just as much victims of the Espheni as anyone else, probably more so in a lot of ways. He’d let his anger and fear for Tom’s safety get the best of him, and the complete asshole everyone thought he was had reared its ugly head._ _

__Ben gave him a look that was full of hatred and hurt, a look that clearly showed that Pope had ripped open some old wounds, as well as created some new ones._ _

__Pope leaned against an old truck to the rear of the upturned Humvee and pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn this was turning out to be a truly horrific day. Pope wanted Tom but could never have him and that apparently wasn’t something he could drink away. Not only was Tom being held hostage by his own son, but Hal might have compromised the entire Resistance and Maggie not only said nothing about Hal’s suspicions about himself but also convinced him to keep quiet too. And now he’d insulted and probably alienated Tom’s second youngest with words he didn’t really mean. And it wasn’t like he could ever explain to Ben that he hadn’t meant what he’d said, that he was upset about Tom’s situation, definitely not why, and that he was pissed at Maggie for being some doe-eyed bitch that might just get them all killed. When this was over, he might just take another stab at drinking himself to death… or at least enough to maybe kill the brain cells containing the memory of the last few days._ _

__While Pope was taking stock of his hellish day and making plans to crawl into a bottle of anything 80 proof or higher, Weaver had decided to try to negotiate with Hal. With his hands in the air and no weapon on his person, the Colonel called up to Hal. Pope’s head shot up and he turned, his AKS-74U at the ready. He still wasn’t sure if he would shoot Hal if he had the chance, but it seemed less likely now that Ben had knocked the hot air out of him._ _

__Pope stared down the barrel of his gun at the window they were all focused on, hoping to catch sight of anything, anyone… Tom Mason. It was pointless; he couldn’t see anything beyond the window itself. “Can you see anything?” Pope whispered loudly as he dared across to Tector._ _

__Tector was already intently looking through the scope on top of his M14. “Little bit of Hal’s hair and forehead, hand, and the business end of his rifle. There just ain’t a real good angle on the window, not from down here… at least not until you get as close as the Colonel.”_ _

__Hal began firing his weapon at Weaver and no one thought twice about firing back, not even Pope. Pope wasn’t aiming to kill; aside from at the window, he wasn’t even really aiming at all. The adrenaline and natural instinct for firefight situations had taken over and he hadn’t even remembered flipping the safety off. The next thing he knew, Weaver had his hand on Pope’s, pushing his gun down and yelling for them to cease firing. Pope let off the trigger immediately and realization of his actions began to sink in. He might have shot Tom, maybe Hal, but Hal wasn’t such a big deal to him. His ears rang with deafening silence as his heart pounded in his chest and he held his breath as Weaver called out for the two eldest Masons. The longer their silence wore on, the more Pope felt like vomiting._ _

__“Yeah, Dan, we’re okay,” Tom finally called out. “Let’s not try that again though, huh!?”_ _

__Everyone let out an audible sigh of relief. Pope’s stomach descended from his throat as relief flooded over him; that had to be the absolute best thing the Professor had ever said. Weaver gave him a look that clearly said he’d better not start shooting again before releasing Pope’s hand on the stock of the rifle. He wasn’t going to pop and just fire aimlessly at the window again, that was for sure. No, next time he would make sure to have a good clean headshot on Hal before he pulled the trigger again. His anger had nothing to do with this decision, he wasn’t sure that he was even experiencing any measurable anger anyways. No this decision was based on the fact that Hal had fired at Weaver, could have killed him… the kid was obviously too far gone._ _

__Weaver crept over behind the upturned Humvee and began discussing strategy. Maggie was quick to suggest that she go in because she was sure that she could “get to him.” Pope figured that would most likely end with either Hal putting a bullet or two in her or him gaining another hostage. Wasn’t she just full of bad decisions and ideas today._ _

__Pope knew that they weren’t going to like it, but he had to interject before more people risked their lives on the lost cause that obviously was Hal Mason. “Can somebody explain something to me? Why is it that if anybody else had of acted like an alien, and shoot people, you’d’ve blown their brains out and used what’s left of their skull as an ashtray?”_ _

__“Hal didn’t shoot anybody!” Maggie lashed out. “He could have killed the Colonel, he chose not to!”_ _

__“I’m just sayin’ Maggs, you can’t count your boyfriend for strength from here on in.” Okay, so maybe he could have said all of that in a slightly more delicate way, but he’d had just about enough of her bullshit excuses for Hal and delicate was never his style. Besides, everyone knew that the longer a hostage situation went on, the less likely it was gonna end in any sort of good way and this shit had been going on for far too long already._ _

__“You don’t have to count on anything Pope, I need cool heads up here who do as they’re told,” Weaver said. “Take your berserkers and get lost. Dismissed.”_ _

__Pope’s anger flared at the mention of cool heads. Weaver was taking Maggie’s side and she was about the least cool head there currently was on the line. Hell, even Ben and Matt hadn’t so much as told him to shut up; to Pope that spoke volumes. Even they seemed to realize the situation their father was in and that Hal was a threat to not only their dad, but everyone else. Were they going to speak up though? Pope and Ben stared at each other for several long seconds as Pope gave Ben the opportunity to do just that. Ben said nothing. Okay then, obviously not._ _

__“That’s the smartest idea I’ve heard all day.” Pope replied and turned to Lyle. “Come on, let’s head over to The Nest. I don’t think we need any more front seats to the latest Mason family drama.”_ _

__

__When they reached The Nest, it was already full of patrons that were off duty due to Hal’s hostage situation. Seemed the entire Resistance had been put on hold while the situation was solved… only a Mason could do that. He walked to the bar and kicked one of the stools in frustration before pulling it back to him and sitting on it._ _

__“Can I getcha somethin’ boss?” Lyle asked, taking up his position behind the bar._ _

__“Strongest stuff we got.”_ _

__Lyle pulled out a bottle from the cupboard behind him, sat a glass on the bar, and poured two fingers worth into the glass. Pope gave him a look, and he poured two more fingers worth. “Don’t let ‘em getcha all outta sorts boss… they shoulda put a bullet in him the second he pointed a gun at Tom.”_ _

__Pope picked up the glass and downed it. “Ain’t that the truth! Instead, they’re gonna get the Professor killed trying ta save ‘em both.” He motioned for Lyle to pour again._ _

__“Ain’t like that’d be that bad of outcome either.”_ _

__Pope’s head snapped up and he gave Lyle a deadly glare. “Yes, it would be. It would be the worst possible outcome!”_ _

__Lyle gave him a confused look._ _

__Pope forced himself to relax. “Tom Mason dies, you know who’s gonna take his place? That Peralta woman. And you think she has what it takes to make the hard decisions, to know when’s the time to take the fight to them? No. She’s got no field experience and I don’t know how many times I’ve heard mention of her opposing missions and the only reason we got past those gates was because of the Professor! She’d be worse than Manchester.”_ _

__Yeah… that sounded like a good enough reason. And it was true... it just wasn’t the whole truth. Pope downed his fresh glass of what they jokingly called ‘paint thinner’ and motioned for Lyle to pour again. This glass he nursed more slowly, perhaps mostly because he got lost in his thoughts of how messed up everything was, how miserable he was, and how if that plane hadn’t of crashed, he might still be blissfully unaware of his feelings for Tom Mason._ _

__“Yo, Pope, you want in on this?” a man that frequented The Nest, but that Pope had no idea what his name was, asked._ _

__“Huh? What?” Pope asked distractedly._ _

__“The bet?” the man said slowly._ _

__“There’s a bet going around; which Mason will survive, Tom or Hal,” Lyle explained._ _

__“You in?”_ _

__Pope felt slightly sick. Neither outcome was good, though one was far worse than the other. He did have appearances to keep up though, especially now that he didn’t want anyone asking questions, so he opened his mouth to say yes. What came out was, “Make a bet? Hell, I should be runnin’ ‘em!”_ _

__The man frowned a little; it obviously wasn’t the response he expected or wanted. The rest of the bar broke into cheer at the idea though and the man joined the crowd after a moment. “This is what I got so far,” he said, handing over the paper he’d been scribbling the bets down on, “I… I get a cut of these.”_ _

__“Sure thing,” Pope replied as he looked over the chicken scratch written on the paper with a lump of charcoaled wood._ _

__“Want me to go get the chalkboard from the classroom?” Lyle suggested as he looked over Pope’s shoulder at the almost full scrap of paper. “Don’t think the kids are having school today, on account of the hostage situation.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Pope replied with fake enthusiasm. “We’ll make an event outta this thing. Father versus son… doesn’t get much better than that.”_ _

__Lyle grinned and hurried off to retrieve the chalkboard._ _

__Pope mentally decided that he was absolutely going to hell; if nothing else he’d ever done was horrible enough to get him a one way ticket there, this was definitely the thing to set it in stone. It was official, he was a horrible, awful person… a horrible, awful, miserable man._ _

__By the time Lyle returned with the chalkboard, his inner asshole had decided that was enough with the self-pity party and it was time for him to take the reins and Pope was just drunk enough to not care. Pope downed the last of his ‘paint thinner’ and sauntered up to the platform where Lyle had placed the chalkboard. Along with a few pieces of chalk and an eraser, there was a wooden pointer laying in the chalkboard’s tray. He picked it up with his left hand and a piece of chalk with his right, turned with a flourish, pointed the stick at the crowd and shouted in his best announcer voice, “Are you ready to get this betting started?!”_ _

__The Nest’s patrons roared with cheer, whistled, and pounded the tables. They didn’t seem to remember or maybe they just didn’t care that the betting had started awhile ago._ _

__“Who knows how long they’ll last,” Pope continued as he turned to the board to draw out the betting table, “better get your bets in quick before one… or both Masons bites the big one!” The bile in his stomach churned and crawled up his throat as he wrote Tom’s name on the board. ‘ _Horrible, horrible awful person_.’ _ _

__Before he knew it, The Nest was just shy of standing room only and the betting was beyond anything he’d ever imagined. Seemed everyone wanted a piece of the action on the Mason’s fate and he was now drunk enough that he’d practically forgotten the Tom’s life hung in the balance, it was like a game that hardly seem real and he was in the moment, trying to get people to up their bets. Besides, last he’d heard, if someone was going to die, it was likely to be Hal. He was also drunk enough to take this as very good news._ _

__“Put 40 on both die for me and I’ll take them out myself,” a man at the bar called._ _

__Pope’s head turned sharply to find the man. He vaguely recognized the man as someone who came in often, bought the cheap stuff, and creeped even the homeliest of women out; Lyle had had to throw him out on more than one occasion._ _

__Pope gave the man a deadly serious look and causally walked towards him. “No, no, no. Easy there amigo. This is ** _NOT_** a call to action, my friend! This is just a friendly wager on the fates of a couple of guys. Don’t even think about it.” He looked the man in the eyes to make sure he was being clear. After a moment, he continued on, trying not to seem overly insistent about it to the point of arousing suspicion as to his feelings towards the Masons… or at least one Mason in particular. “You in or you out?”_ _

__The man had mumbled that he was in and slunk over to a corner. Pope watched him as he made his way back to the platform. He’d never considered the possibility that someone might try to weight the odds in their favor. The worry for Tom’s safety returned and he occasionally made sure that everyone knew that there would be no payout if a kill was made by anyone other than the soldiers that were on the line._ _

__Occasionally he caught himself staring at Tom’s name on the chalkboard. At some point he’d reached a state of numbness where more than anything, he just wanted the hostage situation to be over with, one way or another. He hoped that Tom would survive it, but if he didn’t, at least Pope wouldn’t be pining over him anymore. No, that wasn’t true. He’d probably be spending every moment of the rest of his life obsessing over how he could have, should have done things differently and occasionally confessing things he’d decided to never speak of aloud to a grave marker. He’d probably be bitter and angry too, go into battles with a devil may care attitude, and end up in a grave next to Tom’s sooner rather than later because that’s just how he was. Somehow, that didn’t seem so bad._ _

__Pope was slightly startled as he was pulled from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. He looked over to find Lyle standing there, a strange mixture of excitement and disappointment on his face. He whispered in Pope’s ear that the hostage situation was over, both were very much alive, and Hal had come away with a gunshot wound to the face but they weren’t sure how bad it was._ _

__“You’re sure?” Pope asked quietly, his heart pounding with excitement, and the life flooding back to his eyes. He felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of his chest and Christmas had come early. Nothing had changed of course, Tom still had a girlfriend and Pope had no chance, but in that moment, the fact that Tom Mason was still alive was enough for him. He hadn’t been looking forward to an early grave anyways._ _

__Lyle nodded. “Absolutely, comes straight from Tector.”_ _

__Pope clapped his hands together as loudly as possible; his palms stung when he stopped. “Listen up people! Got new information here!” He waited for everyone to quiet down. “This just in! Drum roll please…”_ _

__One of the patrons had brought in a shiny red set of bongo drums from who knows where not long before. He gave Pope the drum roll he requested._ _

__“Tom Mason is alive and Hal Mason was shot in the face!”_ _

__Several of the patrons cheered while others groaned in disappointment._ _

__“Hold on now, hold on!” Pope continued and waited for the chatter to die down once more. “Hal Mason is de-finitely alive and kicking!!!”_ _

__The cheers and groans switched as people felt that they either had more or less had hope of winning._ _

__“But,” Pope broke through the new rise of chatter, “he’s not out of the woods yet! So no, I will not be paying out on both survive… at least not until this little family drama plays itself out! Once we have final determination, the house will make good on all bets. But, in the meantime, if Hal Mason survives, the next pool will be odds on whether or not the son of our esteemed civic leader will be charged with…!” Pope motioned for another drum roll and it was given to him. “Espionage! The murder of Arthur Manchester! Or! He walks scot free. Drink up! Ponder the possibi…”_ _

__Pope stopped as soon as he spotted Weaver. The entire bar went silent moments after. His stomach sank slightly. He wasn’t sure what Weaver was going to have to say about his betting pools, but it probably wasn’t going to be anything good. Shame began to creep in, and it was like for the first time Pope realized just how wrong and messed up this whole thing was._ _

__Weaver stopped mere feet from him, gave him a look, and then calmly walked over to the bar, asked for a whiskey and pulled some credits out of his pocket as Lyle poured his drink. He turned around to face the room and found that all eyes were on him. He gave the patrons a disapproving look, downed his whiskey and turned back around for another._ _

__Pope struggled with whether to stand there in silent shame and wait for the Colonel to leave or to go over and face Weaver’s disapproval and potential thrashing or punishment. Even though Weaver didn’t understand his reasons for the betting pool, couldn’t possibly, he decided on the second option. He figured it was better to face it now than to have to sleep with one eye open at night for the foreseeable future._ _

__He walked over to the bar to stand beside Weaver, pulling his sidearm just in case Weaver decided to try and kill him right then and there and hid it under the bar, and gave him the perfectly pleasant acknowledgement of, “Colonel.”_ _

__Weaver quickly wrapped his arm around Pope’s shoulders and pulled him closer. “If anybody tries to affect the odds on that board, one way or another, I will personally mount your head on the wall of this establishment.”_ _

__Pope wanted to tell him that his patrons had already been warned against such actions, and that no one, not even Weaver, was more serious about it than him. Instead he stood there in silence for a moment before making a pun. “I’d call that a safe bet.”_ _

__Weaver finished his drink and left in silence._ _

__Pope was more worried than ever about Tom, and perhaps even a little about Hal’s safety. Had Weaver heard about the betting pool and considered the possibility of somebody trying to affect the odds or had someone already tried and that was how he’d known? In any case, Pope decided he’d feel safer if he had someone keeping an eye on the Masons and instructed Lyle to go do just that._ _

__God, what had he done?_ _

__

__It was hours before they heard any news on Hal. When they finally heard that he’d made it though the procedure, Pope was silently and surprisingly relieved. At least for Tom’s sake he was glad. Losing a son wasn’t easy, especially when you had a good relationship with him. Pope of all people knew how hard it was to lose one you barely even knew, he couldn’t imagine the pain that would come from losing one that you were used to seeing every day and then one day you wake up and they’re gone… It would have been horrible and it would have changed Tom, hardened his heart. Much as Pope hated Tom’s optimism sometimes, it was a big part of what made him the man he was._ _

__Everyone that had placed bets began to demand their share if they won and either paid up in true sore loser fashion or tried to duck out of the bar without paying if they lost. Pope decided to leave all of that to Lyle. He left The Nest and started walking with no particular destination in mind; he wasn’t surprised when he found himself in the infirmary searching out any sign of Tom though. He found Hal’s private room which was unsurprisingly guarded. He gave the guards a nod and held up his hands to show that he came in peace before peaking in the window, through the blinds. Hal was asleep, Maggie was sitting in a chair beside his bed but had her head on his hand, Matt was passed out on a cot to the left side of the room and Ben was reading a 3 year old Cosmo magazine and blushing. Pope chuckled to himself, this caught Ben’s attention and he threw the magazine under the bed before standing and nervously making his way out to talk to Pope._ _

__“What… what are you doing here?” Ben asked. There was no hint of malice or accusation in his voice, he was simply trying to keep the focus of the conversation off of the magazine he’d just been caught with._ _

__“Just passing through,” Pope lied._ _

__“Just passing through the infirmary at four o’clock in the morning?” Ben asked skeptically._ _

__Pope shrugged and said, “Nurses,” as if that explained everything. He could tell that Ben still didn’t believe him. “So whattya think of those sex tips, huh?”_ _

__Ben blushed again and looked at the floor. “I… I don’t know, I wasn’t reading that.”_ _

__Pope grinned. “You’re a terrible liar and profuse blusher kid. It’s not anything to be embarrassed about though… it’s the natural curiosity of every man to know what is expected. I actually read that magazine not long ago when I was laid up for a few days.”_ _

__Ben looked up a Pope and smiled a little. “Really?”_ _

__“Oh yeah. Those damn sex tips were the first thing I looked at,” Pope admitted. He clapped Ben on the shoulder. “Trust me kid, most of that stuff isn’t expected. You want some real sex advice, you come see me.”_ _

__Ben was both touched by the gesture and slightly uncomfortable at the prospect of talking about sex with anyone, much less Pope (who was likely to go telling everyone anything he asked or said). “I’ll keep that in mind.”_ _

__“You still a virgin kid?” Pope couldn’t help himself; he was oddly curious if the spikes had ever gotten the kid any._ _

__Ben blushed again. “That’s… really none of your business. And I’m going to walk away, because this is uncomfortable now.”_ _

__Pope chuckled as he watched Ben return to the chair he had been sitting in and try to not act like the magazine that he’d thrown under the bed was an elephant in the room. He turned and walked back down the hall, content in knowing that the Masons were okay for another day and that no one had tried to kill any of them because of him._ _

__“Pope?” Tom asked._ _

__Pope stopped in his tracks and turned. “Yeah?”_ _

__“What are you doing here?”_ _

__“Last I checked, people were free to come and go as they please in this area.”_ _

__Tom raised his eyebrows as he walked towards Pope. “True.”_ _

__They stood in silence for a moment before Pope asked, “Did you need something or…?”_ _

__Tom shook his head. “No, just curious what you were doing here in the infirmary… at four o’clock in the morning.”_ _

__“Oh.” Pope turned to leave, anxious to get away from the already uncomfortable situation._ _

__“I heard about your little betting pool,” Tom said. Pope had only managed to get a few feet away._ _

__Pope stopped, turned back around, and had the decency to look at least a little ashamed. “It was just a little something to keep people occupied… away from your hostage situation. And from worrying… lot of people were worried.”_ _

__“Uh huh,” Tom replied in a way that suggested that he didn’t believe Pope for a second. “I’m sure that’s all it was.”_ _

__Pope shifted uncomfortably under Tom’s gaze. He felt like he was being judged for his actions, which normally he wouldn’t give two shits about, but this was a man he now wanted to like him. “I had bets on you surviving _and_ both you and Hal surviving… if that’s any conciliation.”_ _

__Tom’s lips twitched up at the corners, but stopped just shy of a smile. “Well that’s touching, coming from you Pope.”_ _

__“Well, I’m an optimist,” Pope said; it was the first thing to pop to mind. They both laughed at the ridiculous notion, but an uncomfortable silence fell over them soon after. “I was worried… just so you know.” He ducked his head and stared at the scuffed tile in front of his feet, unable to look Tom in the eyes after such an admission. It had just slipped out though._ _

__Tom surveyed him for a moment, trying to decide whether Pope was being genuine or not. He realized that for once, Pope was. It came as quite the surprise, given what both Weaver and Matt had told him that Pope had said when he was on the line. “Well, thank you, I appreciate it. I was pretty worried there for a while myself… not only for me, but Hal as well.”_ _

__Pope could tell that Tom knew that he’d been ready to kill Hal. “Look, I’m sorry about the attitude I took towards your boy. It wasn’t anything against him… I thought he was gone though, lost to the eye bug! I mean, attacking a woman and taking you hostage… that’s definitely not the actions of a Mason. I figured if there was anything left of him in there, you two wouldn’t have been in that situation. Obviously those eye bugs are a lot stronger than I took them for.”_ _

__Tom nodded. “A lot stronger than any of us took them for. And for a bit there, I wasn’t sure if there was anything left of him either, but the more I talked to him, the more I realized that he was still in there.”_ _

__Pope nodded, looking at the wall behind Tom. “Well, I’m sorry, I didn’t know that.”_ _

__“It was a tough situation Pope and I don’t hold it against you,” Tom told him, laying a hand on his shoulder. He could tell that Pope was still being genuine… this was probably the most genuine he’d ever seen the man and it was a very nice change of pace. “Truth is, if it had been anyone but Hal holding me, or even anyone else hostage like that, the situation would have been handled very differently and we would most likely be burying a body right now.”_ _

__“That’s what I told Weaver!” Pope regretted saying it the moment it left his mouth. “Not that I… I just meant…”_ _

__“It’s okay, I know what you meant. And not that I like you ever having a gun aimed at any of my sons, but I really do appreciate you trying to save my life. Again.” He chuckled._ _

__Pope chuckled as well. “It’s becoming quite the habit Professor.”_ _

__“Oh, I hope not. I prefer not to be in life or death situations where I require saving!”_ _

__“Who does?” Pope joked._ _

__“Yeah. But, if I do find myself in another one of those situations, it’s nice to know I have another person out there fighting for me… one that I know will go to just about any lengths to make sure I come out the other side alive. You can’t say that for many people, especially ones that you typically fight like cats and dogs with!”_ _

__Pope smiled. “Guess I’m finally warming up to you after all Professor.”_ _

__Tom grinned. “Guess so.”_ _

__“This doesn’t mean I’m carrying your books to class or anything though.”_ _

__Tom furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side; that was somewhat of an odd thing to say. “Well, I wouldn’t expect you to, nor would I want you to.” He glanced back down the hall at Hal’s room. “I should probably get back, make sure Hal’s still okay…”_ _

__“Oh, yeah… of course, go!”_ _

__Tom turned and walked down the hall. Pope watched him for a few moments before turning and heading the other way._ _

__

__When Pope returned to The Nest, he found that it was mostly empty save for a few unconscious stragglers. Lyle had the cash box on top of the bar and was tucking the receipts under the cash tray. “All the bets settled up?”_ _

__“Yep… and we made out pretty good, especially you,” Lyle said, pushing a large stack of credits towards Pope. “I can’t believe you bet on the President surviving and both surviving. Much as you hate the Masons, I figured you might bet on him dying or both dying.”_ _

__“Wasn’t where the smart money was. Surviving is what the Masons do… everyone else might die, but there are the Masons, only slightly worse for the wear.” Pope postured as he folded the stack of credits and stuffed them into his pocket. “Besides, apparently I’m warming up to the Professor.”_ _

__Lyle gave him a questioning look to which he gave no reply._ _

__Pope pulled the cash box to him and dug through it for his bet slips. He deposited the slips into his other pocket and handed the cash box back to Lyle to put in the safe. Without another word, he simply made his way to his quarters with a small smile on his face._ _

__

__Tom had finally felt confident enough with Hal’s condition and safety to go back to his quarters to try and get some decent sleep in an actual bed just shy nine AM. He laid awake for a while, staring at the ceiling, and thinking of everything that had happened over the past week. He’d never been so foolish as to think that he might not lose someone else during the course of the invasion and their time with the Resistance, but it seemed like the aliens were trying to take everyone he loved these days, like they were somehow focusing on tearing his family apart. Maybe Karen was._ _

__Tom stretched and rolled over, half expecting to find Anne there beside him. As he opened his eyes, reality came flooding back in and he remembered that Anne and Alexis were gone and Hal was in a hospital bed recovering. He spread out across the bed and stared at the wall as he mustered his strength to face another day. A piece of paper appeared from under the door. Tom frowned; no one slipped notes under doors – if they had something to tell him, they knocked. He stood, walked to the door and picked up what he now realized was an envelope. He opened the door and stuck his head out; the hallway was empty. He closed the door, walked back to sit on his bed, and opened the envelope._ _

__Inside the envelope, he found two slips of paper and a ten credit note with “Don’t go proving me wrong” written on it the back of it. Tom inspected the two slips of paper more closely and found that they were betting slips; one read “ _100 credits on Tom Mason surviving this shit_ ” and the other read “ _Masons will outlive us all, fifty credits on both Masons living_ ”. Pope’s betting slips._ _

__Tom smiled. “I’ll do my best not to let ya down Pope,” he muttered._ _

__Tom folded the betting slips back up, put them back in the envelope, and placed it in the top drawer of his night stand. He then took the ten credit note and carefully slipped it into his wallet behind the picture of his family from before the invasion. He laid back down and held his wallet up, staring at it. Ben had given it to him for his last birthday before the invasion. The brown leather was worn around the edges, even more so at the corners, and was stuffed not with credits, but mementos that he always kept close. There was a drawing tucked in front of sixty-eight dollars of now worthless cash that Matt had done of their family just after the invasion, before Rebecca had died, when there was still a wealth of hope and happiness and innocence in the boy. A note Rebecca had put in his lunch once was tucked behind his Social Security card. A Bicentennial quarter Matt had gotten in his change after buying an ice cream when he was five and gave to Tom was tucked behind the clear window, leaving a permanent indentation in his drivers license. A ticket from Hal’s championship lacrosse game was tucked somewhere in the useless cash. Behind the cash was a now three year old prescription for Ben’s asthma inhaler that he had forgotten to fill, along with a Band-Aid Anne had given him shortly after they met because “you just can’t seem to keep from getting scraped up, can you?”._ _

__At the start of the invasion, his wallet had been in perfect condition, now it looked twice as old as it actually was. It held good memories that preceded the bad ones, reminders of what his life used to be… reminders of what it was now. Tom laid the wallet on his chest, placed both hands over it and closed his eyes. His heart felt heavy with the weight of it, but then he thought about the betting slips and note on the back of the ten credit slip and smiled again. Having to make decisions for an entire community of thousands of survivors, it was hard not to feel like he was letting people down, especially when entire teams went out and only a handful, if any, came back. Somehow, knowing that Pope believed in him, and even Hal in some way, enough to bet one hundred fifty credits on them gave him a sense of hope about the future. With everything that had happened lately, he’d been in short supply of that._ _

__A knock came at the door and Ben poked his head into the room. “Dad, the rebel Skitters are back, they have information on Anne and Alexis.”_ _

__Tom quickly stood and stashed his wallet into his back pocket before grabbing his coat. He stepped into the hall and placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Tell me everything.”_ _

__

__Pope was sitting at one of the tables in the corner of The Nest, near the bar, feet kicked up on the table and a whiskey in one hand, some shitty western romance novel spread open between his thumb and pinky in the other. Lyle had promised it was a good read. It wasn’t. But he was feeling particularly relaxed and chipper, so he didn’t care so much. Last he’d heard, Hal was awake and seemingly bug free, Tom had gone back to his quarters to get some rest after sitting vigil by Hal’s bedside all night, and he’d successfully slipped the envelope with the betting slips and note under Tom’s door without any question or Tom showing up with less than kind words about his gesture. All in all, it was turning out to be a decent day._ _

__“Hey, Pope,” Tector said slowly, carefully._ _

__Pope’s eyes rolled up to look at Tector over the book; he hadn’t even noticed his arrival. “Tector! Sit down, have a drink with me,” he said, closing the book without marking his spot and tossing it to the side._ _

__Tector sat across from Pope, hands clasped together on top of the table. He began picking at a scab on top of his left hand._ _

__Pope eyed him critically. “What’s with you? Ya look like the only virgin in a whore house.”_ _

__Tector chuckled. “Well, it’s just… I got news and I ain’t exactly sure how you’re gonna take it,” he said quietly._ _

__Pope tensed and leaned forwards to hear him better. “Out with it.”_ _

__“Well, ‘parrently the rebel Skitters got information on where Anne and the kid is. Tom Mason resigned his position to Ms. Peralta so he can go search for them.”_ _

__“He what?” Pope asked in disbelief, his eyebrows raised high on his forehead._ _

__Tector knew full well that Pope had heard him correctly the first time. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, looking at Pope as though he were afraid the man might lash out at him._ _

__“Well, it’s official,” Pope proclaimed, leaning back in his chair as though defeated and finishing off his whiskey, “we’re all gonna die.”_ _

__“Maybe she ain’t so bad,” Tector posited. Pope gave him a ‘do you really believe that?’ look. “Look, you said the same thing when the Professor took a leadership position and look how that turned out.”_ _

__Pope grabbed his glass and stood, giving Tector a stern look. “Lightening don’t strike twice in the same place, my friend. We’re not that lucky.”_ _

__“Hal’s been pardoned too.”_ _

__That really didn’t come as a surprise to Pope. In fact, that’d just won him another bet. “I’d be more shocked if he wasn’t.”_ _

__“Want me to start paying out the bets boss?” Lyle asked, pouring Pope another glass of whiskey._ _

__“Might as well.”_ _

__Tector stood and shuffled his way over to the bar, his feet becoming a particular point of interest as he prepared to ask Pope a question he probably shouldn’t. “You okay man?”_ _

__Pope gave Tector a somewhat surprised look; he hadn’t been expecting that. He considered it for a moment. He wasn’t happy with Tom leaving, not in the least, but he couldn’t stop him. He could try to go with him, watch his back though. As for Hal being pardoned, he couldn’t say that he cared much. Peralta was the big problem… she didn’t rightly know what she was doing when it came to military matters, though she sure as hell liked to pretend. “Peralta’s gonna get us all killed sittin’ here with our thumbs up our asses, but yeah, I’m just dandy.”_ _

__Tector just nodded noncommittally._ _

__Pope finished his drink and left The Nest to find Tom, see if he could hitch a ride out of the giant bullseye that was now Charleston. He wasn’t sure going to Karen’s lair to rescue Tom’s baby mama and hybrid rugrat was a much better option, but at least he’d be doing something. He crossed paths with Tom and the Mason boys on the way out the front doors; they were all packed with heavy backpacks slung over their shoulders, utility belts around their waists and blankets tucked under their arms._ _

__Tom gave him a nod, but didn’t stop._ _

__Pope fell in step beside him. “Heard you were leavin’.”_ _

__“Yeah. Goin’ to find Anne and Alexis.”_ _

__“Need some backup?” Pope asked casually. He could practically hear the Mason boys and Maggie’s jaws hit the floor in shock behind him at his offering._ _

__Tom smiled. “Much as I appreciate it, and I really do, I think they need you worse here.”_ _

__“That the polite way of sayin’ you don’t trust me around your hybrid daughter?”_ _

__Tom gave him a searching look, trying to determine his intentions. They both stopped just past the edge of the gathering crowd; the Mason boys passing them to get to their horses. “Thought’s crossed my mind in the past,” he replied honestly. “But that’s not the reason. This is just something that we need to do as a family.”_ _

__Those words stung Pope in an unexpected way. He gave Tom a terse smile and a succinct, “Alright.”_ _

__Tom clapped him on the shoulder and turned to walk past his boys and the horses that had already been saddled and brought out for them until he reached the horse at the front. Weaver was waiting for him there._ _

__Pope moved closer to the front of the crowd circling the horses, as close as he could get to Tom’s horse without standing out. He watched as Hal kissed Maggie goodbye and somehow felt better that he wasn’t the only one being left behind. Lyle joined him and informed him that most of the bets had been paid. Pope didn’t care and simply nodded in response._ _

__Weaver pointed out the food, water and maps that had already been strapped to the horses. “What else do you need?”_ _

__Tom turned to him and quietly, shyly, replied, “You.”_ _

__Pope froze. Surely he hadn’t heard Tom right. Why did he need Weaver? Why Weaver instead of him? Time seemed to stretch on forever as Weaver ducked his head shyly and eventually said, “Yeah, I wish I was goin’ too. Doesn’t feel right.”_ _

__Pope looked between the two men, frowning. He had missed something. Was something going on between Tom and Colonel Weaver? Surely not… Tom wasn’t that sort of man. Unless… unless things had fallen apart between Anne and Tom and they’d kept it a secret. Pope’s head was spinning, his blood heading towards boiling point as jealousy raced through him, and his heart aching like he’d been betrayed. He could see the two men’s mouths moving, but the deafening ringing in his ears drown out the rest of the conversation._ _

__Lyle shook his head. “Can’t believe they’re just letting him ride right on out of camp like what he did was nothin’,” Lyle murmured, nodding towards Hal._ _

__Something snapped within Pope as the Mason’s mounted their horses and the asshole in him reared its ugly head. “Hey Lyle, remind me to pull the old eye bug defense next time somebody wants ta lock me up,” Pope said loudly as he looked straight at Hal. He didn’t know why he was poking at Hal like this. Maybe it was old habit, maybe it was because the prick still got on his nerves somehow. Probably because he was just an easy target for Pope’s misdirected anger._ _

__Ben rode up next to Hal and said, “Don’t let it get to ya.” Hal moved on and Ben gave Pope a ‘why do you have to be such an asshole sometimes?’ look. He followed after Hal and their father without a word though. He knew the kind of guy Pope could be, knew that Pope didn’t bare any real ill-will towards Hal, but wished that he would be the okay, even sometimes kind of cool guy that he’d been with Matt for a while now and was starting to be with him._ _

__Pope felt a pang of guilt at Ben’s look and his anger tamped down a notch or two. He watched as the Mason’s rode out of camp until he couldn’t see Tom anymore, then turned to go back to The Nest. He caught sight of Weaver standing in the middle of the road, staring after Tom like a love-sick puppy and he wanted to wipe that look off of the Colonel’s face with his fist. Some rational part of him reminded him that it would get him nowhere but locked up, so he stomped away wishing Tom had never met Weaver, or he’d realized he had feelings for Tom a long time ago, or even that he’d never met Tom Mason, the life ruiner._ _


	3. Damage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own and feel free to point them out. :) This chapter coincides with 3x07 - The Pickett Line.
> 
> Again, to those who have been waiting for the next chapter, sorry this took so long. My muse left me after the last chapter. :( It's back now though! Each chapter coincides with an episode, there are three more after this one, and I'm hoping to have those three chapters written before the season 4 premiere. I'm gonna try really hard people, promise!

Pope spent the rest of the night stewing in anger and self pity. He would never outright kill Weaver – as much as he hated the man right now – but he could damn well fantasize about leaving him on some battlefield for dead with no guilt. Maybe comfort Tom in the aftermath. Good God, when had he turned into a jealous bitch? Next thing he knew, he’d be getting his damn period.

He didn’t sleep well that night, not that that was a surprise; he just had too much on his mind. Like what if the Masons were killed by a Skitter patrol along the road and he never saw Tom again? Or what if they actually made it, found Anne and the baby, but Karen had a trap set for them? What if they saved Anne and the baby and made it back to Charleston alive? Where did that leave him? And just what the hell exactly was going on with Tom and Weaver? He finally gave up on sleep when the day’s first rays of light slipped through the cracks of his boarded over window.

Lyle was already behind the bar when Pope exited his room. He didn’t know how the man managed to be such an early riser, especially considering that he never went to bed before 1 am at the earliest. Pope groaned at the thought of simply being awake before the school children were.

“Mornin’ Boss,” Lyle greeted him. He did it without a smile or any note of happiness in his voice but still somehow came across as cheerful. “Want some coffee?”

“I want my whiskey ta smell like coffee,” Pope replied glumly as he took a seat at the bar. Despite the fact that he’d deflated a lot since last night, he was still in the shittiest of moods.

Lyle raised a brow questioningly but made Pope’s requested drink without question. “Still pissed about the Masons?”

“Ya have to ask?” Pope spat.

“Mason’ll be back, he’s survived worse. ‘Sides, I just can’t deal with the thought of a future where Peralta is left makin’ the decision’s permanently.” He sat the coffee mug in front of Pope.

“Amen ta that brother.” He took a sip of his ‘coffee’ and sighed. “So what’s on the agenda for today?”

Lyle shrugged. “Nothin’. Nobody’s scheduled ta go out today and there’s only a light guard on the perimeter; none of the berserkers are on duty today.”

Pope rolled his eyes. “First day on the job and she’s already screwing up… the future looks grim my man. You should probably pencil in a late afternoon massacre, ‘cause that’s where things look to be headin’ from where I’m standin’.”

“Ya think? It’s been a long time since we’ve had a full-on assault on Charleston.”

“And that’s most likely exactly what the fish heads have been thinkin’! They stop tryin’ to attack us head-on, wait for us to let our guard down and then they attack us with everything they’ve got,” Pope said emphatically, slamming his hand down on the bar. “Peralta might as well hang the welcome sign out for them.”

“Hope they don’t wipe us out before we have a chance to spend all these credits we made yesterday,” Lyle said in an attempt to change the conversation to happier topic. He pulled a couple stacks of credits from the cashbox under the counter and waved them in front of Pope.

Pope shook his head and stood, walking to the door with his coffee. “Spend them on what… hookers and blow?” he joked. He paused at the door. “Ya know what? We couldn’t even spend it on that because there ain’t many hookers around here and none of them are worth the money, and all the drugs left in this world go straight to lockup in the infirmary.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lyle muttered, blushing slightly as he ducked his head.

Pope narrowed his eyes at the man. “Oh, Lyle… no… no! Please, at least tell me it’s not the one with the questionable yeast infection that’s lasted three months and the nightmare inducing tattoos and personality to match.”

Lyle shrugged a little. “Credits do buy protection. And I kinda like it when she yells at me… I’m embracing new facets of my sexuality.”

Pope shook his head in disbelief. “That is not gonna end well.” He pushed the door open and walked out, draining the last of his ‘coffee’ from the mug and sitting it down on a stack of wooden crates in the hall. He took half of the credits from Lyle and began counting them.

Lyle picked up the mug and shoved it into the hand of one of the men headed towards The Nest; he’d already lost count of how many mugs had been misplaced because Pope just sat them down wherever. He wasn’t about to lose another. He’d even had to buy some back from people who knew an opportunity when they saw one.

“Good news is, business is booming, profits are up,” Pope said as though they’d never gotten off of the topic, “but bad news is… so what?”

Lyle chuckled. “Well we got more credits than we know what to do with.”

“That’s my whole point. Right? What the hell am I gonna do with all that pieces of paper? Right? Get myself a new tube of toothpaste?” He said sarcastically as he handed the stack of credits back to Lyle to put back in the cashbox.

“Yeah, but someday…” Lyle reminded him as they walked up the ramp to the bus they’d turned into a sort of private outdoor lounge.

“The future’s not ours to see Lyle,” Pope said, waxing philosophical, “it’s carpe diem.”

“Grab whatcha can and grab it fast,” he agreed.

“Yep.” Pope took a seat on the grimy but surprisingly comfortable (for something they’d found in the lobby of some swanky hotel) leather couch that sat on the makeshift ‘porch’. “What we need is _someone_ or _something_ to trade with… another community or somethin’.”

“Maybe like the one where President Hathaway was.”

Pope craned his neck around to look at Lyle out of the corner of his eye, surprised. “Actually, that’s an _almost_ brilliant idea.”

Pope had no time to consider it further before their rig began to shake almost violently. He looked around for a moment, thinking that it might be an earthquake, but quickly realized that it had to be something else; no one else seemed disturbed by the shaking. He and Lyle moved to the left corner of the ‘porch’ and saw that one of the stiff upper lip military guys – the ones that wore the stupidly worthless military pressed camo uniforms and thought that just because they were in Charleston first that they were superior in every way – had a truck backed up to their rig and was latching onto it.

“The hell ya think you’re doin’?!” Pope demanded.

“Gettin’ ready to tow this… thing,” the grunt replied nonchalantly.

“No you are not!”

“No, I am Pope. In fact, this whole area’s being cleared out.”

“Cleared out, my ass.” Pope turned, already working himself into a rage, and hopped off of the rig before stomping towards the grunt. “On who’s orders?!?”

“By order of the President of the New United States, Pope,” Weaver announced, making his way towards them.

Of course Weaver had something to do with it; he shoulda guessed. “So I guess it’s true what they say huh? Absolute power corrupts, absolutely,” he jabbed. Weaver walked past him, almost as if he wasn’t even there. “When the mouse is away, that cat… takes pretty much whatever the hell she feels like. Is that is?”

“Refugees keep pouring in every day,” Weaver postured as he inspected Pope’s rig. They’d done a lot of work on it since the last time he’d bothered to take notice, which would make taking it away all the worse. Weaver found that he took some amount of pleasure in Pope’s misfortune. “Housing below the city is at maximum capacity. Ms. Peralta wants to make room and Popetown, including your bar, is the most logical choice.”

“It’s the worst possible choice, Cap. People need a place to blow off steam; can’t keep that kind of pressure building up,” Pope reasoned. He was proud of himself for managing to stay so calm in the face of Weaver trying to take everything that made this crap world worth living in, including Tom, away from him.

Weaver stared him sternly in the eyes. “Keep your powder dry Pope… you’re not being closed, you’re just being moved.”

“Where? Timbuktu?” He asked incredulously. “Listen, if Tom Mason was here you know that…” Pope was interrupted by an urgent sounding voice coming over the loudspeaker, announcing that there was someone closing in on Perimeter B.

The two briefly exchanged a look before parting ways; Weaver ran towards the gate, yelling for the camo brigade to abandon Pope’s rig and get to the gate, while Pope, Lyle and a few others went to secure the rest of Perimeter B. Pope didn’t go far though and could see what was happening at the gate from his position.

“What’s happenin’ down there?” Lyle asked in a hushed voice from his position about ten feet away.

Pope’s eyes widened and he lowered his gun when he realized that it was Cochise and that he was carrying a man. Pope had jolt of fear that it was Tom, but he quickly realized that the man had gray hair and was therefore not Tom.

“What’s goin’ on?” Who is it?” Lyle asked.

“It’s Cochise and he’s carrying some man, don’t know who.” A whisper of Cochise’s name went down the line of fighters on the wall. Pope sighed with relief and slung the gun he’d grabbed from someone over his shoulder. He moved towards the ladder, patting Lyle on the shoulder as he passed. “There’s no threat. C’mon. We’ve got a worker’s union to organize.”

 

Pope filled Lyle in on his little plan and then they went their separate ways to put the plan in action. It was brilliant in its simplicity. There weren’t many that were happy about Peralta taking over, especially those from the 2nd Mass’s road trip days, so compliance was all but guaranteed. All they needed to do was get everyone to do some goldbricking; slow down the work, make the higher ups take notice and then make their demands when the powers that be realized just how much they needed the little guys to function.

It wasn’t long before Anthony was taking Weaver on the broke down and busted tour of Charleston, pointing out everything that had gone wrong just in the short time since Cochise had arrived. Pope was trying his best not to grin like the cat that got the cream by the time Anthony and Weaver stopped at the broke-down truck just outside the carpool; the steaming truck was an excellent, if unexpected, touch if he did say so himself.

Anthony nodded in Pope’s direction and Weaver spun around to look at him. Pope leaned forwards slightly and waved with a saccharine sweet smile on his face. “Afternoon Colonel!”

“What the hell’re you up to, Pope?” Weaver demanded, fists clenched and jaw set, barely containing his anger.

“Absolutely nothing, sir,” he replied innocently. “Just having a friendly chat with a couple citizens here from Charleston, SC… reminding them that they do have some rights! If this is still a democracy, as it purports to be.”

Weaver slowly began to stalk towards him. “If we’re short vehicles and weapons and soldiers on the front line when the enemy attacks, we’re gonna lose a lota people. Ya really want that on your conscience?”

“Sir, if throwing a wrench into the works improves Ms. Peralta’s hearing, then hell yes, I do.”

“This is no time for shenanigans.”

“No disrespect, Colonel,” Pope began, and was somewhat surprised that he meant it because this had nothing to do with Tom and whatever personal issues were there, “this is exactly the right time. First the Volm, they turn us into their monkey boys… now this?”

Weaver arched a brow, not entirely sure where Pope was headed with this, but none the less intrigued by what he had to say.

“Colonel, this is bad road. I just think it’d be time for a nice… change of pace. A new vision.”

Weaver gave him a small, terse smile. Everything that Pope was saying wasn’t much different from what he himself was thinking, but he still knew better than to rock the boat. What they were left with in the wake of Tom’s departure was far from ideal, but it was better than chaos. “What your talkin’ about is not only foolish, it’s dangerous,” he said quietly. “And when Tom comes back…”

“Tom Mason is not coming back, sir,” Pope said clearly and emphatically. “He’s smarter than all of us put together… he knows when to abandon a sinking ship.” Even as the words left his mouth, he wasn’t sure what he was saying. He knew Tom wasn’t that sort of man; he wouldn’t just leave and not come back to his people… his friends… his extended family without a damn good reason. Maybe it was to hurt Weaver, maybe he was trying resign himself to a future that might be easier without Tom Mason… he honestly couldn’t say.

Weaver simply gave him a disbelieving look and said, “You get your dogs off of this bone _now_.” He turned and walked away with a sinking feeling, an emptiness in his chest at the prospect of Tom never returning. He’d considered the possibility that Tom might have to stay away for the sake of Alexis’ safety, but hearing Pope say it just hit it home.

“Truth’s a bitch, ain’t it Colonel?” Pope said as he watched Weaver walk away. That was a blatant jab aimed for the heart and when Weaver slowed his pace, Pope knew he’d hit his mark. It was official, Weaver had it just as bad for Tom Mason as he did. The only question remaining was… had Tom already reciprocated Weaver’s feelings or was the field still wide open?

“Yes sir, truth is one squirrely bitch,” Weaver spat back.

He really was a bastard of the worst sort, there was no denying that now. Not that he wanted to. The truth of it was that he was in pain and he wanted Weaver to hurt just as much as he was or worse. “I think it’s time for phase two.”

“What’s phase two?” Lyle asked.

“Gather everyone with a sympathetic ear at The Nest. I got something ta say that I think they’re gonna wanna hear.”

 

Word had spread quickly and it wasn’t long until The Nest was at capacity. Pope sat on the bar and waited for everyone to quiet down before he pointed vaguely in the air and began. “ _They_ expect _us_ to work for _them_. With the bubbleheads! No questions, no… no complaints. Right? And the whole time, deny us our simple pleasures.” He grabbed the glass of whiskey he’d had Lyle pour him before he started his speech and raised it into the air. 

Mumbles of agreement filled the room and many picked up their drinks to take a pointed swig.

“I say until they resend that order – to take what is ours, to confiscate our property – we don’t work for them, and we sure as hell don’t fight for them!”

Exclamations of “Yes!” broke out in the crowd.

“Pope’s right,” Weaver said.

Pope quickly sought him out in the crowd, surprised. The surprise passed quickly and he held his arm out to Weaver. “Colonel, welcome.”

“We all need a place to unwind,” Weaver began, slowly making his way to the front of the room. “I recognize that. And Ms. Peralta recognizes that. But there is no place, in my vision of democracy, for wanton disregard of the law.”

As Weaver neared him, Pope became uneasy as he wasn’t sure if he should be prepared for a fight or if Weaver was taking some sort of high road. Either way, he wasn’t about to take his eyes off of the Colonel for a second.

Weaver took a seat on one of the barstools not far from Pope, his gaze flicking back and forth between Pope and the crowd. “Especially when it threatens the safety of this community… and the progress of the war effort.” He paused to allow the crowd to consider what he was saying. “Is that clear?”

Nods of understanding and acceptance and quite mutters of “yeah” passed over the crowd.

Weaver took a second to count the small victory before blurting out, “Pope, you’re under arrest.” As the words tumbled from his mouth, it was as if the tightening in his chest released and the simple pleasure of it filled him.

Pope couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “On what charges?!”

“Civil disobedience and general unruliness,” Weaver said, just as he’d rehearsed on the walk over. They were trumped up charges that would have been overlooked in normal circumstances, but Weaver knew the score, knew what this game was all about. And if Pope wanted to play bloody knuckles, then damned if he wasn’t gonna make the sucker bleed.

Pope could tell that Weaver had caught on to him, to what their problem really was. He hopped down from the bar. “You have the authority sir, but you do not have the right,” he said as he walked towards the door, going willingly before Weaver could tack any other charges on. It looked good for his side of things anyways.

As Weaver watched him walk away, he knew that this wasn’t going to be an easy fight. Neither of them were going to back down, they both had too much pride for that. So, a pissing match it was. At least the citizens were back under his control… for now.

 

There was nothing like a harsh dose of reality to set things in perspective. After accompanying Cochise, President Hathaway and Ms. Peralta down to view the Volm weapon and finding out that if the weapon failed to do its job they would only have 3 months to live, maybe less, Weaver decided to pay Pope a visit in jail and have a chat.

“Evening constable,” Pope said with a heavy sigh, obviously no happier to see Weaver now than when he’d left The Nest.

“Got a moment?” Weaver asked politely as he entered the makeshift cell.

“Well… I’m a little booked up today, but I think I’ll make an exception for you.” As if he had a choice. “Boy, the state of the union must be in real turmoil if you come all the way down here ta chat with the likes of me.”

Weaver had no witty comeback for him; he simply looked around the cell for something to sit on, finding it, and began what he’d come to say. “When I wanted ta throw you out on your ear, Tom convinced me that having someone who doesn’t do the acceptable thing can be essential. We might be headed for a time when that’s true.”

Pope looked over at him, not bothering to sit up on his cot, and tried to decide if that was a backhanded compliment or not. He stared at his fingers, pretending be much more interested in picking at a hangnail. “And here I figured that you and our ersatz president had it all figured out. Little trouble in paradise there Colonel?”

Weaver rested his elbows on his knees and looked at his hands as he gathered the courage to say what he’d come to say. He looked up, but avoided looking at Pope, his pride wouldn’t allow him. “I might need your help Pope,” he said quickly.

Pope looked at him again, surprised. Was he serious? A good look at his unhappy expression and adverted eyes confirmed that Weaver was indeed coming to him hat-in-hand. He turned on his side, propping his head on his hand, and grinned. “Need my help? You shut me down… you shut me down.” It was more than clear that the latter had much more emphasis and meaning behind them than just his rebellion and bar. The guard wouldn’t know that though. “You, put me, out of business and locked me up.” Emotion was starting to cloud his voice, he couldn’t help it.

“Somethin’s goin’ down and none of that’s gonna matter Pope.” He was staring him straight in the eyes this time; this was serious business and bigger than their fight over Tom. “You might be right about the Volm.”

Pope considered this for a moment. “Is that it? Is that all you’re gonna give me?” Did Weaver seriously think that they were just gonna kiss and make up and go back to the status quo? Sure, when it came right down to it, he’d be right beside Weaver fighting whatever alien bastards they needed to, but off the battlefield, he was still the competition and would be treated as no less. If he’d known it was going to come to this, he’d of told the Colonel that he held a grudge like no other a long time ago… just so that it was clear.

“Till ya need ta know more,” Weaver replied vaguely.

Pope couldn’t tell if Weaver was strictly talking about the Volm or alluding to his relationship with Tom, whatever it may be, or both. The man certainly had a talent for giving you everything and nothing at all; it was maddening.

“Now get outta here.” Weaver’s nod towards the cell door was barely perceivable, but when he pushed open the door it was quite clear. “And no more rilin’ up the civilians.”

Pope sat up, grabbed his coat, stood and left the cell without making any promises. He was just glad to be able to get as far away from the man as possible before he gave in to the urge to get a few licks in on the good Colonel.

“Thought you were locked up,” Maggie said as she passed him in the hall on his way out.

“Yeah… I was liberated.”

“Just when I thought things were looking sunny.”

Pope had always had a certain affinity for Maggie… not in the way she obviously thought though. She was sarcastic and pessimistic and tough and rough on more than just the edges; she reminded him of himself. He thought about what Weaver had said about something bad maybe coming down the pike and though of Tom and as much as he didn’t like Hal, he still felt like he needed to keep an eye out for Maggie while they were gone. “Say, listen, word to the wise… there’s some stuff comin’ down the pike.”

This piqued her interest, but she could never tell when Pope was being genuine and when he was just full of shit. “What kind of stuff?”

“Can’t exactly say.” He couldn’t say ‘cause he really didn’t know.

“Meaning you don’t know.”

Damn, he was slipping on his bullshitting. “No,” he admitted. “But the source is unimpeachable.”

“So why are you telling me?” she asked, annoyance dripping in her tone.

Were people just going out of their way to piss him off today? Here he is trying to help the bitch and she’s getting pissy with him. “Just figured without the Mason brood around, you might just need a friend.”

“Friend?” Maggie asked incredulously. He was the last person she wanted to consider a friend. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Then for old time’s sake,” he said as she started to walk away. He considered a moment too late that maybe that wasn’t the right way of putting it.

She shook her head and turned back around. “There were never any old times, Pope. Not the way I remember it.”

“The way I remember it is that I rescued you from near dead.” And that was honestly how he liked to remember it. He wasn’t a different person back then like he allowed people to believe, he just really wanted to be something that he wasn’t so sometimes shitty things slipped out of his mouth and he allowed things to happen that he shouldn’t have. If he could go back, he’d like to think that he never would have allowed his gang to do… what they did to her. He would have been beat to a pulp for it, because despite what everyone thought he wasn’t the strong leader… he was the smart one so they let him play leader, but at least he could have slept at night with a clear conscience and not listening to her cry herself to sleep while he tried not to throw up.

“You kidnapped me and fed me to your gang,” she hissed in his face.

“All you had to do was say something and I would have done something about it!” Maybe it was a lie, maybe it wasn’t. It was most definitely an excuse, something he’d told himself so that he could look in the mirror again.

“You knew you lying bastard! And you did nothing!”

“Just like you lied about your traitorous eyeworm boyfriend? And what’d you do?” Now he was deflecting. He knew he should stop, just walk away before he made it any worse, and yet all he did was lower his voice to a loud whisper. “What’d you do Maggie? You did _nothing_! Get off your high horse Maggie. We’re no different! You do what you gotta do. At all costs, we survive. I may have my faults; I got a list of sins twenty miles long, but I call it the way I see it! And that, you can count on.” He’d made it worse, there was no doubt, but it was the cold, hard truth. Maybe what he’d done was worse, but it was about surviving. The world had gone insane, no more rules and laws which is what he’d always dreamed of, but when faced with it in reality… he was terrified because there were people a thousand times worse than he could ever be and suddenly he was surrounded by them.

Maggie stared at him, trying to figure out the right words to respond with. She settled on, “You are so of shit!” She knew he wasn’t, but it was easier than admitting that she’d seen the glimpses of the doubt and fear and regret in his eyes and known that he wasn’t much better off than her.

“There will come a time, sometime soon I suspect, when this little pantomime of yours… it’s all gonna come to an end. And when it does,” he moved around behind her and whispered in her ear, “you’re gonna come crawling back to me. And that’s the truth.” Pope walked away simultaneously feeling like he’d won and like he was the lowest of the low… right now he probably was. He felt sick to his stomach, but what was done was done. He wanted to take care of Maggie, but all he ever managed to do was push her further away. Story of his life. He started out with the best of intentions, but all he ever did was damage.

 

Pope was on his way back to the nest to crawl into a bottle to forget when he heard about President Hathaway. Just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse. He had to find a way to push aside his pride and talk to the Colonel, voice his suspicions. The last thing he wanted right now was to end up causing more damage. He made his way to the infirmary and waited.

Weaver walked out of what _was_ President Hathaway’s private room and saw Pope waiting there. He didn’t know for sure what the criminal wanted, but he couldn’t have picked a worse possible time. “Not now Pope.”

Pope ignored him. “I probably don’t need to point out the obvious, do I Colonel?”

“You mean that Ms. Peralta got her comeuppance after the President arrived and less than twenty-four hours later he was assassinated by the mole? No, you do not need to point that out.”

“It’s also worth noting that the reins of power fell right back into her hands, don’tcha think? I’m starting to think this Charleston is starting to feel less like a fledgling democracy and more like a Roman palace!”

Weaver stopped and turned to look him in the eyes and whispered, “Then, I suggest you watch your back… lest ya find a dagger in it.”

Pope momentarily considered that this could be a thinly veiled threat, but he could see it in Weaver’s eyes… he was being genuine and he was just as scared. Weaver started to walk away. “You too.”

Weaver stopped and looked at him again. He smiled and nodded to Pope, understanding both what was said and what was left unsaid, before walking away. They could temporarily put this thing, this rivalry, aside if only for one mutual goal… to protect and survive.


End file.
